


I live among the creatures of the night

by sridevi



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 01:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17478425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sridevi/pseuds/sridevi
Summary: New to fics, new to the fandom.AU set at a punk show, Zari and Charlie may or may not have an incident at a mosh pit and they may or may not fuck in a bathroom. Whom knows.





	I live among the creatures of the night

**Author's Note:**

> All errors are mine own because I didn't DARE show this to anyone to read it. Message me if you notice something's off. 
> 
> Title's from "Self Control" by Laura Branigan

Her door creaks open, but Zari’s eyes don’t leave the screen in front of her. “You coming to the show tonight?” Sara asks from the doorway.

Shaking her head, “I’m a little busy,” she replies. She can’t lose here without setting her progress back by half an hour, at least, and Zari really isn’t in the mood to replay two escort quests back to back.

Sara walks in and turns off the TV—ignoring Zari’s yell—before saying, “Eating an entire pizza while playing whatever game that was, isn’t what I’d call _busy_. As your friend who is concerned about your lack of a social life, you’re coming. End of story.” She hands Zari the flyer as she leaves.

 

“Sara! You could at least close the door!” Zari shouts after her.

 

She groans leaning back into the couch and closing her eyes. She should _really_ get her own place. Zari could live with sharing a bathroom with four other people—and Sara’s girlfriend—but she draws the line at having to get up to close her own door, but, apart from leaving the door open, maybe Sara was right, and she wasn’t busy per se. Still, the last time Zari went out she’d ended up babysitting a heartbroken Nate while all her friends were busy getting drunk. It’s not exactly Zari’s idea of a good time.

 

Considering she’d lost so much of her progress, she might as well go at this point. She picks up the quarter sheet in front of her to see that music starts at 8:30. “Better start getting ready,” she mutters to herself.

 

———

 

Sara and Zari step out of the street walking down the stairs into the basement, the muffled soundcheck of the first band coming from above them. Across the room Ava catches Sara’s eye across the smoky room and she’s off, yelling a quick, “see you in a bit!” at Zari before—predictably—leaving her alone. It’s not like she wanted to be the third wheel, but if Sara was going to insist on her going out it’d be nice if she at least talked to Zari while they’re here.

 

She scans through the crowd looking for anyone she knew, with no luck. It was still too early for Mick to show up, and Nate had to spend at least an hour on his hair before leaving the house. She was flying solo. Sighing, she sits down at the bar and grabs a handful of trail mix out of the bowl in front of her.

 

“Fancy a drink?” A woman slides onto the stool next to her briefly knocking into her, and Zari barely looks at her before she yells “two shots of whiskey!” to the bartender.

 

Still chewing on trail mix she says, “I don’t drink.”

 

“Good thing they’re both for me then,” the woman smirks nodding at the bartender as she places both shot glasses down in front of her. Zari shrugs and eats another handful, while the woman knocks back her first shot. Zari traces the curve of her neck with her eyes, but all too quickly she’s placing the glass back in front of her and meeting Zari’s eyes. Like she knew exactly what Zari was thinking about.

 

Zari looks down, breaking their eye contact, and turns away. Social life be damned, she isn’t going to spend her night talking to this woman who, not to judge, might have heavier drinking problems than Mick, and probably even less in common with her. As attractive as she might be.

She taps Zari on the shoulder to get her attention again. Maybe taking a hint wasn’t her forte. “Usually, people introduce themselves when they’re making small talk at a show.”

 

“I think I learned something about not talking to strangers.”

 

“I’m Charlie, and now we aren’t strangers.” She takes her second shot, slamming it down on the bar and says, “Nothing wakes me up quite like a shot in the morning.”

 

“It’s almost 9 PM,” Zari points out.

 

“Exactly. Morning,” Charlie grins, her tongue poking out between her teeth. “Drinking or not, you really should let your hair down. It’s better than sitting around alone.”

 

Before Zari can smoothly reply that her hair _is_ down and Charlie’s the one who has her hair half up in a way that sort of draws her eyes down her jaw and to her neck, and maybe lower than that. Sara’s grabbing her by the arm saying, “Hey, Z! Show’s about to start,” and pulling her towards the stairs away from Charlie.

 

It’s probably good that Sara got to her when she did because Zari’s not sure the reply she was going to give would have the effect she wanted.

 

———

 

Okay, maybe her and her friends dress up in some costumes—at Gary’s request for their DnD sessions, so on the whole probably more embarrassing than what was going on in front of her—but she doesn’t really _get_ the whole aesthetic of a punk band dressed as cowboys. This could be some avant-garde look she wouldn’t understand since she didn’t study art or decades of punk acts. It could just be their idea of fun.

 

It’s only the first band of the night, but people are already starting to get rowdy. She spots Sara entering the not-quite-mosh-pit. She never feels more alive than when she gets to swing at some shitty dudes and this is no exception. If the music had been better, maybe Zari would even join her, but for now she’s content to stand close to the edge and only nod along to the music.

 

Before she can get into the rhythm of the music, she hears from her left; “We meet again. Perhaps we can continue our discussion,” and it’s Charlie again, she’s raising her hand to Zari’s hair, “About how you can let loose a little.” Zari already feels her shoulders raising, in response to this woman who is _so obviously_ trying to get a rise out of her. “I never got your name, Z.”

 

Zari grabs Charlie’s wrist and lowers her hand away from her hair, eyeing her as she sways to the music with a drink in her other hand, her eyes glinting like she finds something amusing about the situation. Like Sara hadn’t taught Zari how to break someone’s wrist. “Only my friends can call me that.”

“Still strangers? Ah,” Her eyes drop to where Zari’s still holding onto Charlie’s wrist and Zari lets go, hand falling limply to her side. “Perhaps you want more than that. I can’t blame you, love, I’ve been feeling a connection as well.” Stepping closer to her. Zari faintly thinks that Charlie doesn’t understand what personal space is.

Maybe it isn’t the wisest choice she’s made in her life—she’s not even sure it’s a conscious choice she’s made at all—but Zari shoves Charlie away from her. Directly into the mosh pit. Faintly, she thinks if you shove someone into the pit, they will shove back into you. It could have been her senior thesis, with this as her culminating experiment, because Charlie was certainly about to shove back into her.

 

Now, Zari’s completely soaked, whatever had been in Charlie’s glass is all over the front of her shirt, and her lip is throbbing from where Charlie smacked into it with her forehead. “Fuck,” she pushes the other woman off of her, stumbling over her feet.

 

She slips out of the crowd, and runs down the stairs to the bar and towards the bathroom downstairs, slamming the door open and almost slipping and falling. Of course there’s piss on the floor, because it must be _so difficult_ to actually pee in a toilet. Stepping carefully, she looks at herself in the sticker covered mirror above the sink. Her lip is bleeding, and there’s a little bit of lime on her cheek, from the garnish on Charlie’s drink.

 

Running the tap, she splashes water onto her face and hisses, “Fuck,” again because yeah, it stings, and yeah Zari’s maybe a little bit mad right now. She didn’t even want to go out tonight, and now this kind of hot asshole spilled her drink all over Zari, and her lip is _still_ stinging. It might be the lime. Plus, her clothes are going to smell like booze and it’s not like she has a laundry machine in her house, and she’s not about to ask Gary to do laundry at his place, so she’s going to have to go to the laundromat. Because of this asshole—and maybe, maybe a _little_ bit because Zari pushed her. But, mostly because of Charlie being an asshole who doesn’t understand personal space.

 

The door swings open again, and Zari realizes she forgot to lock it. “Do you mind? Someone’s in here!” She yells, but then she sees who’s walked in and this _would_ be happening to her. “It’s you. Hey, you wanna consider apologizing?”

 

Charlie steps fully into the bathroom now, closing the door behind her, “Never been at a show before, love? These things can happen when one stands too close to the moshpit.”

 

“I’ve been to plenty, and usually when someone accidentally clocks you,” Zari crosses her arms glaring at the other woman, “They apologize.”

 

It may have been the wrong thing to say, because Charlie walks closer to her, barely inches away and Zari remembers, again, that it’s sort of her fault they’re both in this situation, and she almost, _almost_ , feels bad until Charlie says, “That’s not quite my style, but if you want I can always kiss it and make it better.”

 

“That’s not quite my style,” Zari spits back. And, for all that, Zari’s thinking about it. She’s only human, and Charlie’s hot even though there’s something in the way she seems smug and certain of everything she does that makes Zari want to convince her she’s not so right about everything.

 

Charlie looks at her, before stepping away from the door. Giving her an out, if that’s what she wanted.

 

Zari doesn’t even have the luxury of blaming alcohol for her poor life choices when she decides to lock the door and push Charlie against the wall. Her eyes are wide, surprised, but she tries to play it off saying, “I knew you’d come around, love.” But Zari’s not having it anymore, and kisses her to get her to stop talking.

 

Charlie’s hands come up to Zari’s hair, and she kisses back like she’s trying to win. Her tongue flicks out over the cut on Zari’s lip and she hisses. Charlie tastes like alcohol, and sweat, and iron—probably from Zari’s cut—and it’s like no one she’s ever kissed before. Zari isn’t one to take control like this, but something about the other woman demands that she rises to the challenge that was never issued.

 

One of Zari’s hands come up to grab Charlie’s hair, pulling her away from her mouth, and the other toys with the hem of her shirt. “Is this okay?” This may be a quick fuck in the worst bathroom in the city, with the most infuriating woman she’s met, but Zari wasn’t exactly going to do anything without asking.

 

Charlie’s looking at her desperately, not breaking eye contact when she says, “God, yes. Please, Z.”

 

She pushes Charlie’s shirt up, glad she’s not the one with her back against cold tile, glad Charlie’s not wearing a bra, and kisses and bites the skin above her breasts. Charlie’s gripping at Zari’s hair, the nape of her neck, pushing her closer like it’s not enough. And maybe it isn’t. She shifts her leg, slotting it perfectly between the other woman’s like it was meant to be there, and Charlie’s hips start rocking as she moans.

 

Her tongue works its way over Charlie’s nipple as it hardens, before she grazes it with her teeth. Zari licks and sucks at Charlie’s breasts trying to leave marks that say “I won and don’t you forget it.” She kisses her way back up to Charlie’s mouth, pausing to explore the landscape of Charlie’s neck—the salt of her sweat on her skin and something else that was uniquely hers. Zari didn’t hold back on marking her neck, feeling the need to bite down on Charlie’s pulse point. All while dragging her fingers down to the button of Charlie’s pants.

 

Knees knocking Charlie’s legs wider, Zari has to ask, “Can I touch you?”

 

“You’re already touching me,” Charlie says. “But I’d appreciate it if you would fuck me.”

 

And oh, maybe Charlie’s right for once, but she won’t let her know and kisses her again. Deftly, Zari unbuttons her pants and barely slides them down. Just enough to fit her hand down Charlie’s underwear, and she’s so wet that Zari can’t help but groan. Her thumb finds Charlie’s ready clit, and strokes it in circles, and Charlie grinds down against it wanting more.

 

This, Zari decides, definitely isn’t enough, and she traces Charlie’s opening with one finger waiting for Charlie’s breathy “Yes.” before pushing one, then two fingers in. Her palm now rubbing against Charlie’s clit. She’s inside her now, and Charlie’s pussy is so hungry for her as Zari thrusts into her. She thinks she could stand to do this again. Curling her fingers against Charlie’s g-spot, and fucking her in earnest Zari can feel the tight, slick muscles gripping at her fingers tightly. Charlie tenses against her hand, and Zari knows what’s coming but doesn’t slow down letting Charlie ride the wave of her desire as she moans.

 

Only when Charlie finishes, does Zari take her hand out her underwear, before demanding, “Lick.” Which Charlie does all too willingly, her tongue running the length of Zari’s fingers. And this could be a dream, because it might be the hottest thing Zari’s ever had happen to her.

 

It’s not meant to last though because someone’s pounding at the door of the bathroom. And they both hurry to make sure they don’t look like they did exactly what they just did. Charlie pulls her pants up, buttoning them before saying, “So, uh, I still don’t know your name, Z.”

 

She could leave it at that, and walk out of the bathroom, but maybe Charlie wasn’t as bad as she thought.

 

“It’s Zari,” she says.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't ever written a fic before, let alone something explicit so rip in peace. I'll probably write more for them but I had to.  
> Also no one tells you how hard it is to write people fucking, because wow it's Difficult.


End file.
